The Lamb is Caught in the Blackberry Patch
by MandyQ
Summary: When Death Eaters are called to find an enemy they will go to any length, but danger masquerades as shelter and a wolf can wear sheep's clothing. Lucius, Narcissa, Bellatrix, Regulus, and co. in 1979. COMPLETE. Please R&R. TDH Compliant. No spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: were any Malfoys, Blacks, or other Death Eaters to be for sale, I would buy them and then I would own them. That has not happened, so I do not own any of those things. I also do not own anything else in this chapter (I do however, own the brothel and madam you'll see later- spolier much?). I have made no money on this nor do I wish to. I mean no infringement and I'm fully aware that I'm trampling through someone else'd universe. I can only ask for forgiveness and reviews.

A/N Ok- I think the plot is ready to go on this one. It's been hours and hours to figure out where to start; but here it is. Thanks to the WONDERFUL bigred20 and other lovely folks who have read and reviewed A MISSION AWAY. This piece is going to have a very similar feel. Please enjoy!

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**APRIL 1979**

Lucius Malfoy let out an audible groan, cursing his own generosity as he looked down at the piles of parchment cluttering his desk. He thumbed through the smallest of the piles and shook his head as he considered where to begin. Never again would he volunteer to look over someone's papers for them.

It wasn't as though he particularly minded being helpful. But when he'd offered to assist his wife's cousin Regulus with getting his affairs in order, Lucius had no idea what he was going to be in for. Regulus was the last scion of the Black family legacy. His elder brother, Sirius, had been disowned just before Lucius had married into the family and all of the other Blacks of his generation were girls. It was for that reason that Reg was not only being left the Lion's share of the fortunes of his father and uncle, but also being very strongly encouraged to marry within the year.

Regulus was eighteen and had only just finished his formal education, but it seemed that every member of the Black family was in some great hurry for him to settle down and see to it that there would be another generation after him. Reg, however, had plans for his youth that had very little to do with 'settling down'. Regulus had decided to take the Dark Mark.

He would be marked by the Dark Lord as one of the faithful within the month, by Lucius' guess. Regulus seemed as fit for the service of the Dark Lord as any other that Lucius had seen; even his cousin Bellatrix could barely boast a stronger desire to see the world purged of the blood traitors and the mud blooded filth. But Regulus was not stupid, and he realized that he would have to live up to the expectations of family as well as his own hopes for himself. He hadn't yet decided on a young lady to wed, although Lucius was silently quite certain that finding the girl would scarcely be a problem for the only living heir to two of the Black fortunes, but Regulus had at least taken the step to see to it that the proper guarantees of inheritance would be in place before such a time as they might be needed to persuade any potential fathers-in-law.

And it was with this task that Lucius had so genially volunteered to assist. He'd had no idea what he was getting himself in to. A day after he had agreed to look over the documents in question, a small fleet of owls had arrived carrying boxes upon boxes of pages for his examination. The Blacks had conditions upon conditions for inheritance of money and of property, some of which made Lucius' head spin they were so complicated. He understood, of course, the need for language specific enough so as to prevent any contention of entitlement that might be made against an estate by an out-of-favor or disowned (and the Blacks were notorious for disowning people) would be inheritor, but the nuance and legal pomposity of the paperwork on his desk were enough to drive Lucius quite mad. It was as though these papers had been written in some archaic legalese and any self respecting Englishman would wish to beat the author senseless with a mallet. At least that's what Lucius wanted to do. He'd decided at the end of the second full day of fiddling with this pile of gibberish that anything he might do to his wand would be far too easy on the old wizard who'd come up with this language and that a mallet might be better suited to working out his aggression.

Two weeks he'd stared at the practically unreadable pages. For two long and tiresome weeks he had spent his days reading and rereading a sentence at a time to try and come up with its meaning so that he could perhaps move on to the next sentence and at some point hope to grasp the meaning of the passage. Lucius knew, of course, that magical contracts that were to be in force after the death of one of the signatories had to be extensive and precise- lest a clause be forgotten that could allow a loophole to invalidate the entire work, but still these contracts were the most inane and useless wads of annoyance that he had ever been witness to. And for two solid weeks he'd had not a moment of peace or of joy thanks to the piles of madness upon his desk.

"Lucius," he heard his name called from the doorway to his library. What the hell did she want?

"Narcissa?" he snapped, never looking up from his reading. He was too frustrated and preoccupied to deal with her at the moment.

"Darling, I'm off to the luncheon. Is there anything you'd like while I'm out?" Narcissa came a few steps further into the room and looked down at him. Lucius had the distinct feeling that he looked like a drowning man behind all of those papers, and moreover, he had to suppress the impulse to throw something at her as she had interrupted him just at the moment of understanding what might have been a key passage in this damnable text.

"Peace and quiet," he snarled back at her, looking again for the beginning of the sentence he'd almost managed to comprehend before having been intruded upon.

"Very well," he heard her sigh. The tone in her voice gave him pause. Lucius didn't handle stress well, he knew that about himself and he also knew that he had taken more of this out on her than she rightly deserved; likely by an order of magnitude. Surely he had a moment to wish her a nice afternoon. Lucius looked up from his papers to address her as she walked out. When he caught sight of her, he felt his mouth fall open.

"What in the name of Merlin are you wearing?" he asked, trying very hard to control his volume.

"I beg your pardon?" Narcissa turned back to face him, a surprised look on her face. She was dressed not so unlike she usually was. She sported a handsome amber tweed afternoon jacket with an ivory lace high collared blouse beneath it, but where she would normally have paired the jacket with a skirt of some indiscernible cut and complimentary color; today she had donned something entirely unexpected.

"Trousers, Narcissa?" he asked her, knowing full well what the answer was. Lucius was neither blind nor stupid and he could clearly see that his wife of four years was most certainly wearing trousers. He couldn't ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach when he saw the heavy tweed hanging just so off of her firm, round behind. This was no ensemble fit for public consumption. He had to wonder if he was more intrigued or annoyed at her choice of clothing.

"I'm surprised you even noticed," she commented snidely. "The last couple of weeks I've felt like I could walk through the house stark naked and you'd scarcely take notice." Lucius growled. He was not going to let her bait him.

"You're wearing trousers, Narcissa?" he repeated.

"Yes," she affirmed, "I believe we've covered that."

"Why?"

"Ah, well, that's a different issue entirely," she simpered.

"Is this getup merely for my benefit," he asked her, "or were you really planning to leave the house like this?"

"If you listened when I spoke every once in a while," she growled in response, "you would remember that today is the Ministry's annual hoopla to raise money for the scholarship fund at Hogwarts. It was your idea that I join this blasted committee in the first place, Lucius. The theme for the function is 'do something unexpected' and so as part of it, all of the hostesses are wearing trousers." Lucius frowned and pursed his lips. He had been the one to insist that his wife join in all of that nonsense. Lucius needed to assure himself that the Dark Lord's work could go on in his world unhindered, and the way he found easiest and most palatable to make sure of that was to see to it that he and his wife kept up a respectable social presence in the daylight hours. But going about dressed like she was at the moment was hardly respectable.

"I will not have my wife gallivanting about London showing off her legs to passers by," he insisted.

"I'm not gallivanting anywhere," she countered. "And besides, these trousers have as much material to them as half the skirts in my closet. I am not 'showing off' my legs simply by admitting that I have them. And you should see what some people are wearing these days, Lucius. You should see what the Muggle women are wearing. Skirts up to here…" She placed her hand high on her thigh for emphasis and shrugged her shoulders at him. Lucius stood from his seat and shook his head; he'd heard tell of some 'sexual revolution' going on among Muggle women and he frankly thought it distasteful. He'd married a lady, and that is who intended to be married to. Whatever Narcissa was playing at with the trousers was thoroughly infuriating. And what was more infuriating was that he could tell she was not about to back down. She was being difficult and he was getting mad; this was never good.

"Never mind about Muggle women," he insisted. "Have you looked at your backside in that getup?" He knew that such an indelicate question was likely to offend her, but he didn't rightly care at the moment as long as he got his point across.

"I can't say that I have," she shot back. Damn, she'd kept her cool.

"Well…" Lucius was at a momentary loss for words. It was not often that he became perturbed enough to lose his eloquence, but he could see that this exchange had rapidly built to that point. "Is it your intention, Mrs. Malfoy," he began again. He always called her that when he needed to assert his authority over something. "To go about London dressed in such a way as to have strange men lusting after you?" Narcissa gasped. He'd gotten to her with that remark and he knew it. The word 'lust' did not sit well with his demure young wife and he was proud of himself for knowing just what card to play to get through to her. He allowed himself the tiniest smile in victory.

"I must say," she huffed, trying to keep herself on an even keel, "that I appreciate your acknowledgement that even though I elicit no such reactions from you at the present that I may still provoke those thoughts in others. Now I am going out for the afternoon and I fully intend to be home in time for supper. I shall take my supper in the sitting room and you may join me if you choose, but I beg you to bring a civil tongue if you do." Narcissa's face took on the most ghastly expression. Lucius couldn't tell if she was angry or hurt. Either way, he hadn't the chance to comment again because before he could so much as catch his breath, she'd stormed from the room and down the hallway. There was no way he was chasing after her. He doubted that he would ever get her to change her mind, and all that going after her would accomplish would be a louder and more brutal fight. Better he let her go for now and they discuss this matter rationally later; like next week or next year.

Lucius sank back in to his chair and shook his head. What did she mean 'elicit no such reactions'? Had he really allowed his preoccupation with this damnable inheritance paperwork to interfere with his attentions toward his wife? He shook his head. Maybe? Lucius shrugged as he again picked up the page from his desk. No matter; she would likely not warm to his affections in the near future either, not after the conversation they'd just had. He knew he wasn't going to apologize; that was not his style. And besides, he felt firmly within his rights to have told her he thought her outfit indecent. But he did entertain the notion of asking for forgiveness for upsetting her. If she'd felt neglected recently that was his fault and perhaps he should make some gesture of contrition.

No, perhaps not. She had just left the house in that horrendous outfit. He was likely to be just as annoyed when he saw her come back home as he was on her way out. Better not even think about it or he'd never get any more of this blasted work done. The woman was positively infuriating. Always had been.

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Remember, I live for reviews!


	2. Chapter 2

This is for O-Yossarian-O, who loves the Death Eaters as much as I do. 

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It was beginning to get dark and Lucius had felt his eyes begin to glaze over before he looked up from the papers again. He had become once again thoroughly exasperated by the family he had married in to. Damn the Blacks for being so detail oriented.

Some of the papers were more than five hundred years old and Lucius did find it a bit interesting that the family had planned for so far into the future as to see to it that some great great great great grandson could still be denied a fortune even if the previous inheritor had died before the subsequent inheritor committed such an act as to precipitate the denial of inheritance. This clause went on from generation to generation and made specific allowances to provide for inheritance by nephews, cousins, brothers, and even (as a last resort) daughters and nieces in the event of such treachery.

Lucius considered adding such a clause to his own will, once he had one. Lucius had been the only son of an only son and the Malfoy family fortune had truly only become so substantial as to require such tedious paperwork in the last century. Although their blood was equally pure, the Malfoys had been but humble working wizards until quite recently. Lucius owed it to the fact that the Black fortune was so bloody old that there was such a mound of paperwork to be gone through. It was putting him in quite an angry stupor.

His eyes came clear again suddenly when he felt the painful twinge of movement from the ink black Mark on his left arm. For once he was ready to rejoice at the feeling of discomfort summoning him to the Dark Lord's side. No matter the mission and no matter the conditions that might meet him on the other end of this beckoning, it would likely be a better way to spend the evening than hunched over his desk. And he had to admit that he held the opinion that a pleasant spot of violence might just be the thing to release some tension and return his mind to an even keel. He'd happily blast away any Muggle he came across wearing a 'skirt up to here' or whatever Narcissa had described, and anyone else who got in his way just for good measure. He rose from his chair and fumbled for his wand on the desk beneath the papers. Having finally located it, he pointed his wand at the seat of his chair into which appeared his Death Eater's robes, mask, and hood.

Lucius considered for a moment penning a note to Narcissa lest she come home and wonder where he was, but decided it an unnecessary delay. She had been his wife for four years, and had been aware of his allegiance to the Dark Lord since long before then. He felt that he could trust her to figure out where he had gone for the night.

Lucius snatched his garb from his chair and stalked from his desk out onto the Apparition point on the balcony. The wards at Malfoy manor were more than a hundred years old, and no one had much of a clue as to how to allow for Apparition into or out of the house. Lucius, however, had managed in his teens to figure out the precise spellwork that would allow for a specific point to be created. The chosen place was on the balcony of the private library at the northwest corner of the house. Only those who had Apparated from it could ever Apparate to it, and the specific stone had to be the intended destination or a person would never get in. The Apparition point had been quite the blessing in these years of struggle, as it was quite convenient to be able to come and go in the dark of the night without having to make the trek to and from the gatehouse at the edge of the property.

He felt a tug at his navel from behind his eyebrows and in the time it took to catch his breath he found himself standing in his place in Lord Voldemort's sacred circle. The circle of the faithful had grown recently. Those who had been but minions in the early years of struggle had earned the right to take the Dark Mark onto themselves, and new members were being recruited into the ranks all the time. Lord Voldemort's forces had grown to hundreds or perhaps thousands of wizards in Britain alone, as well as numbers at least as string from mainland Europe, North Africa, and the Near East. These days a meeting of those so faithful as to have been rewarded with the Dark Mark was an epic affair. There were concentric circles of Death Eaters Apparating into place as far as the eye could see; each circle twice the size of the one before it.

Lucius looked around from his place in the innermost circle. The old guard was still intact. Bellatrix Lestrange, his wife's older sister, stood directly to Lucius' left, her husband Rodolphus on her other side. Roddy's brother, Rabastan, stood on his left followed by Barty Crouch, Jr., Charlton Avery, Tiberius Nott, Walden Macnair and his son Matthew. Beyond Matthew stood Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf known best for his penchant for biting even when he was not transformed. Greyback stood next to Igor Karkaroff, whose other side was occupied by Antonin Dolohov. And between Dolohov and Lucius was Severus Snape.

In the second circle, Lucius could see the familiar faces of the Carrows, a brother and sister who were new to the fold, and of Arlen Gibbon, the wise cracking master of the Imperious curse, and Algernon Yaxley, a former hanger-on who had proven himself finally worthy of the mark just last year. Lucius hadn't much time to look for further familiar faces, as Lord Voldemort made his appearance presently. He hovered over the centre of the circle and looked down at his amassed fold. "My brethren," he addressed them.

"My Lord," came a low and reverent reply from the men and women in the circle. Lord Voldemort took a deep and decisive breath as he spun round and planted his feet on the grass beneath him.

"I have called you all here on a matter of grave importance," Voldemort informed them. "A wizard who thinks himself powerful has stolen an object for which I had intended a purpose. The item has particular significance to me, and I require that it be recovered. This man, this wizard Torok, has presumed to take something of mine. This shall not be tolerated!" Voldemort's tone was even more strident than usual, and his bearing was that of a crazed man; not at all his normal, measured, in-control demeanour. Voldemort was not known as one to give over to passion so Lucius figured that whatever this object was, they had best get it back in a hurry. "Each of you will leave this gathering tonight questing after the trail of Torok. He is skilled; that I will concede to him. We must find where he hides. We must find where he keeps his treasures hidden and we must destroy all that he holds dear. None of us will rest until we have quelled his madness with eternal slumber!"

What a speech. This was not SOP for Voldemort, and it was clear to Lucius that everyone felt the same. The group listened as the outer circles of Death Eaters were given their orders: the fifth circle to Torok's family villa near Aswan, the fourth to a cave in the Caucasus where it was rumoured he had amassed a store of personal and magical treasures which the Death Eaters were to destroy. The third circle was instructed to follow the trail that would undoubtedly lead from Aswan to Kenya, where the object in question may be found in the keeping of a Masai shaman that Torok reportedly held under the Imperious curse. And the innermost circles would be hunting for Torok himself.

Torok had as recently as yesterday been spotted in Morocco and the most trusted of the Death Eaters were to find him there. It seemed as though the crafty wizard had gotten wind of Lord Voldemort's dissatisfaction in his coming to posses the item in question and that he had subsequently gone into hiding. Hiding was not so easy when being pursued by Death Eaters, but Torok likely knew only a hint of that. Still, he had disappeared overnight into the alcoves and alleyways of old Marrakech and into someplace unplottable. They would likely have to go door to door in the wizarding sections of Marrakech, but they would find this Torok and bring him before the Dark Lord to answer for his crimes. Fifteen of them would be tasked with this piece of the mission; including the newly Marked Regulus Black.

Lucius grinned as he watched his wife's young cousin join the clump of men and women about to embark on their way to Morocco. Bellatrix looked awfully proud of her recruit's finally having officially joined Lord Voldemort's ranks and wore a smile that could make a man's blood run cold. Of course, just knowing that Bellatrix existed was enough to make many a man's blood run cold a fact which had served her well over the years. Lucius, on the other hand, was also pleased at another member of his family, albeit through marriage, was among the chosen. Lord Voldemort issued the orders to the group himself, although he made no secret of the fact that he expected Walden Macnair to take the lead once they were in country with Antonin Dolohov and Lucius as his ready lieutenants.

The fifteen of them would be split into smaller detachments when necessary, but would largely be conducting this endeavour as a whole unit. They would take the night to reach Morocco, Apparating into and out of enough urban areas in Northern Africa to see to it that those who cared to look for the Death Eaters would think them everywhere and nowhere all at once. It was a most favourable position; seeming to be omnipresent and yet invisible, and a tactic that the Dark Lord made regular use of. They would be in Marrakech by dawn, and begin the hunt in earnest by sundown tomorrow.

Lucius held no doubts that he would be home again by breakfast the day after


	3. Chapter 3

A person could smell morning in Marrakech long before he could be aware of its approach by the condition of the sun. The acrid smoke from the cooking fires coupled with the pungent stench wafting out of the tanneries was enough to make a man retch where he stood. As the sun began baking the earth, and the activity began on the streets, the rank odours of animal dung and unwashed bodies mingled with particulate matter in the air, making it nigh on to impossible to breathe freely.

The dust was unbearable, as was the heat. The people there moved about at a frenzied yet haggard pace, as though they scarcely noticed the smells or the grime or the squalor. This was how the Death Eaters found this city; its windowless clay hovels barely a sanctuary from the heat of the day or the cloud of putrescence that hung about over everything.

They managed quickly to secure lodgings just at the edge of the Wizarding part of the city. It seemed that the correct amount of gold could buy a person anything in Marrakech, including a months rental on the entirety of a two story rooming house as well as the silence of the innkeeper. Bellatrix made certain to add an Imperious curse: just to make sure. They made quick work of charming the dickens out of the place; each of them taking on one form or another of magical security. They closed all of the shutters and saw to it that no more outside air could get in. They each charmed one or more doors locked, and they saw to it that no means of magical surveillance could take place in this space without at least one of them being made aware of it.

Lucius was quite miffed that they had not the chance to return to their respective homes from the meeting before coming on this blasted journey. He would normally have insisted on being joined on such a trip by his manservant: the house-elf called Dobby. As it was, they had no servants along at all. Neither had they soap, towels, a toothbrush, or a change of clothes between them. Surely these things could be conjured or purchased in some combination in Marrakech, but still the thought of taking off for parts unknown to you without so much as a clean undershirt seemed daunting.

And who, exactly, was supposed to do the cooking and the tidying up? Lucius looked around at his colleagues and realized that this was going to be some sort of an issue if they had to be here more than a few days. There were showers at least, but Lucius hardly thought the bare pipes and tin spigot looked exactly inviting. Those among them who knew what a kitchen was supposed to look like (and Lucius was quick to admit that he did not consider himself to be among them) said that the one they had access to seemed to be stocked well enough, if not with anything familiar as being edible.

There was fruit, at least, and coffee in a pot on the stove. Lucius gladly started in on a bowl of dates that he discovered on the over large dining table on the ground floor. "Don't bother with the coffee," he heard Reg advise the group. "Tastes like there's soap in it." Lucius chuckled.

"Well then, now we know what's become of the soap that's lacking in the bathroom," Barty Crouch commented.

"Is cardamom," the innkeeper answered from the chair he had been instructed to remain seated in. His accent was heavy, and the scarf he wore over his head had fallen about his shoulders, making him appear cartoon-like as he spoke. "Is cardamom in the coffee. No soap."

"Hear that, Malfoy," Bella called from her perch over a basket of flat breads she had uncovered. "There's no soap. What'll you ever do if you can't shine yourself twice a day?" Lucius snarled at her. So what if he prided himself on immaculate grooming? That was no sin. And yes, he was just the tiniest bit disturbed by the thought of perhaps not getting a proper bath for a day or two, but he was not here because of his good looks, and he would simply have to put his personal grooming habits aside for a few days and see to the task at hand.

"I shall see to it that we complete this mission with utmost expedience, Bella," he replied smoothly. "Then I shall return home to as many bars of soap as I could ever hope to wish for." Bella wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at him. She really was a piece of work, that one. Lucius had known her now for nearly fifteen years and still the more he got to know her, the more unbelievable it was to him that she was at all related to Narcissa; much less her elder sister.

The lack of soap would likely pose little real hardship, but the inability to blend in to their surroundings likely would. They certainly did not appear at all like the locals; there was not a swarthy man among them, and even in the Wizarding World, looking completely out of place was not the hallmark of a stealthy operator. It was decided that they were to play the role of English tourists, spending their days in the bazaar and along the market streets in Wizarding Marrakech and their evenings in the local dives and hot spots. They would hire a guide if one presented himself, and set off to find the Wizarding culture of Marrakech.

They would have to be sneaky, as brutality in the beginning was not likely to win them any information. And information was the commodity most precious to the Death Eaters in the early hours of the mission. A week as tourists would likely educate them enough on the intricacies of Wizarding Marrakech to allow them to put their true faces forward in time. Torok was in this city somewhere, of that the Dark Lord had been certain. And they would find him.

Lucius would have preferred doing this the old fashioned way; with blasts of curses and whole nights spent striking fear into the hearts of all in the city until any of them might have given up Torok's whereabouts for but a momentary lapse in the pain. But this was going to have to work. He had to admit to himself that he truly lacked the patience for such drawn out and nuanced covert activities. Lucius frowned as he looked about the room at his colleagues. Only Bellatrix seemed to be as annoyed as he at the plan to sit on their proverbial wands for the time being. This was not the work they had signed on for.

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Short chapter- I know. More later, the action begins at sundown. cackle


	4. Chapter 4

With nightfall came a welcome respite from the stifling heat of the day and it was as though the entire city was transformed by it. The temperature in the night was only a tinge warmer than the average high temperature in Britain this time of year and the group of Death Eaters found it most pleasant to open the windows they'd sealed for the day and allow themselves some relief from the oven that they had created for themselves. The lot of them had made their way up onto the roof of the three level clay and beam structure- where they had discovered that the breeze blew well and constant and that as the wind came in from the west, they were thankfully upwind of the majority of the stench from the city beneath them.

Bella had fashioned a sort of a fire pit on the flat rooftop, and the entire detachment of Death Eaters lounged about on cushions they'd conjured for just such a purpose. Bellatrix had been the only among them brazen enough to walk about in the streets during the daylight hours and she had managed to find quite the wealth of goods and libations for the comfort of her compatriots. She had visited the Wizarding Bazaar in the streets adjacent to their hotel and found the single seller or alcohol.

Bella had, in fact, made friends with this purportedly elderly gentleman and had scored the bunch of them enough wines to keep them relaxed for days on end and he had brought her round to the best shops in which to purchase _B'stila_ pastries, _khubz_ bread and local lemon preserves. The others in the group were more than happy to indulge themselves on the local flavour. Lucius had to admit that he was quite thrilled that there was at least some piece of Moroccan cuisine that he was finding fit for consumption. He knew that his discerning palate would not fare well in this foul smelling city, and so it was with some relief that he polished off the last of the pastries that Bella had presented him with.

Several bottles of wine and more than a few baskets of bread and pastry later, it was decided that some of them should begin their assay of the city. They decided that it would be best to split up and explore the different districts in smaller groups. Bellatrix would go with Roddy and Rabastan, Barty, and Dolohov to look over the area she had begun to explore during the day. The Muggle sectors of the city (in which it was notorious for unplottable magical dwellings to be hidden) would be surveyed by Walden and Matthew Macnair, Nott, Avery, and Yaxley. Lucius would be leading Greyback, Peter Crabbe, Jasper Goyle, and Regulus Black into what had been described to him as a more upscale Wizarding district on the southernmost end of town.

Lucius felt himself singularly prepared for approaching an area of upscale wizardry. After all, he had travelled extensively in his youth, and had even spent the summer of his eighteenth year on a grand tour of Europe. The Malfoys frequented only the best hotels, restaurants, boutiques, and entertainment establishments no matter where they went, and therefore Lucius was the only one among the group with the appropriate vocabulary and familiarity with the vernacular of the upper crust to lead the group in to the high society establishments of Wizarding Marrakech.

He'd chosen his partners for the evening carefully from among the other Death Eaters. Crabbe and Goyle were, for the most part, silent as a rule and had that had proven to be an asset to intelligence gathering missions in the past. Fenrir Greyback, although rough around the edges, was the most keen observer of the bunch and his gift for gauging situations could be an invaluable resource on the first night in a foreign land. And Regulus Black was not only Lucius' sort of protégé, but he also came from an old and moneyed family and was the most likely of the detachment to be able to conduct himself appropriately in the posh digs.

The five of them strode confidently through the streets of Marrakech, heads high and wands hidden, as they had to pass through the Muggle sector on their way to their intended destination. The Hotel Majid was to be their haunt for the night. This was the swankiest hotel in wizarding Morocco, and the lounge in its basement was notorious for loose lips and the free exchange of information.

It was easy to spot the place; its all wizard sensibilities making it shine in comparison to the sand coloured Muggle buildings on either side of it. The building was taller than any of the others in the district, and the towers in the corners boasted minarets in shining blue lapis. The five of them strode in through the front doors of the glistening gold and blue tiled building and, passing a silver sickle to the man at the door, turned sharply toward the stairs to the basement.

Lucius had no idea just how he was so sure he could find the doors to this room, but he had some distinct feeling that he would just find it. He'd heard tell of the Hotel Majid, of course, as had most wizards of means, but he'd never actually met anyone who had been there. Lucius knew, of course, that these types of places were mostly all alike, and that he was likely to find the entrance to the basement's secret rooms just by following his instincts.

Surely and quickly, as though they had known right where they were going, the five of them came upon the gilded stone steps of the basement corridor. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room below, Lucius had to let out a tiny chuckle. If he had been asked to guess the décor of an overpriced and pretentious Middle Eastern wizarding nightclub; he would have been able to describe this place with his eyes closed.

The room was circular, with petal-shaped alcoves cordoned off by velvet and gossamer curtains, offering those behind them the tiniest hint of privacy. Every wall was reflective; papered entirely with mismatched gilt and wood framed mirrors. The floors were covered with garish rugs in haphazard patterns and peppered with multi-coloured cushions of silk and brocade that reminded Lucius of the ones they'd amassed on the roof of their lodgings. There were massive hookah pipes smoking wildly in three places and they were being attended by wizards and witches who seemed thoroughly enamoured with the experience. In the centre of the room, a pair of half-nude acrobats twirled and flipped in rhythm to a drum that was playing itself above their heads.

Lucius had heard, of course, of wizards who had chosen the path of the physical adept. There was an entire school of magical thought in which youngsters would be encouraged to learn magic only for the betterment of themselves and not for the manipulation of outside objects. He had seen some performers like this once, at a Wizards Circus when he was eight, but he had not remembered it as such an erotic form of entertainment. These two were gyrating and levitating in a barely clad and musical representation of what Lucius could only guess was the Kama Sutra, playing out each position slowly and deliberately before taking the most elaborate and limber path to the next.

The bunch of them settled themselves in one of the larger and less cordoned off alcoves. They wanted a good look at what was happening in the room. Regulus in particular seemed most impressed by the nubile acrobats and Lucius chuckled as he watched his cousin's eyes twinkling with every change in positions. "Should we try and angle for you an introduction?" he asked, nudging the younger man in the ribs with his elbow. Reg laughed out loud and rolled his eyes.

"I want nothing to do with women on this trip," he insisted. "Lucius, you know the pressure I'm under where it comes to women. I'm on vacation from that."

"You're on a mission, mate, not a vacation," Greyback reminded him.

"Do you see my family around here anywhere?" Regulus asked back. "I mean…" He corrected himself, "Aside from all of my family that's here. Lucius and Bella and Roddy are on my side. Mission or no, this is vacation"

"Hey- a mission can be a vacation," Peter Crabbe allowed, nodding his head. "I'll be the first to admit that I'm not too distressed by being away from home for a while."

"It seems as though you gentlemen have come here to enjoy yourselves," Greyback commented. "You must remember that we are here for a greater purpose."

"You sound like Bellatrix," Regulus complained as a dark skinned young woman came and presented them each with a cool glass of mint tea. "We can get our work done and have a good time," he asserted. "Can't we?" Regulus looked to Lucius for some guidance.

"Nothing is without its good points," Lucius answered. "This is your first trip abroad with us, Reg, so you're not familiar with the way we work; but I assure you that you have gauged the situation quite correctly." Lucius leaned back against the cushions on the wall and sipped his tea. "We do manage to enjoy ourselves."

"And give the new man a break, Greyback," Goyle insisted. "He's the only eligible man among us; let him have a go at one of those dancing girls if he wants to."

"I do not want to, Jasper," Regulus reiterated.

"That's a sorry state, man," Crabbe asserted. "The only one here who could enjoy these women without fear of reprisal and you've no interest." He shook his head. "Although I can say that what Leah doesn't know about won't hurt me." He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at the others. Lucius shook his head and snickered, leaning back on his elbow and crossing his feet at the ankles.

He looked around the room at the dancing girls that had begun to twirl endlessly around the room, their skirts standing at a right angle from their bodies as they spun. They were interesting enough; with their undulating hips and exposed bellies adorned with jewels. Lucius knew that he should find this arousing, as the others in the circle obviously did. To Lucius, these women were barely interesting. He knew he had better at home.

And then it hit him. Suddenly, and as though an invisible hammer had hit him simultaneously in the gut and in the temple, he realized; he remembered that Narcissa had no idea where he was. She would likely have guessed when she came home to find him missing that he had been called away to the Dark Lord's side, but that was two days ago. He had never been away for so long without extensive pre planning before and he wondered whether she was angry or worried.

He knew that she would be angry if she knew that he was in the middle of a room filled with velvet cushions and hookah pipes and half naked women. He felt suddenly as though he shouldn't be there. He had never been so uncomfortable anywhere before and Lucius found it most unsettling. He concentrated on the men in the room. He knew he wouldn't recognize Torok if he were looking him squarely in the eye, but Lucius had a keen enough instinct when it came to these things that he knew he would be able to tell if anyone there was as out of place as they were.

Lucius needn't have looked for long. He could tell immediately that their group had been spotted by someone who seemed as interested in the group of Death Eaters as they were in their surroundings. Lucius quickly scrambled to his feet and signalled to the others to stay where they were. He knew that Greyback would be watching, and took some comfort in that as he strode slowly toward a bar near the stairs. The man who had been looking at him was still watching from the far side of the stairs. Lucius dared not approach the stranger, but he held no fear of making himself approachable. One had to play these things just so.

Lucius ordered a glass of spiced mead and leaned nonchalantly against the bar. He was built for this sort of high-stakes intrigue, and the opportunity to begin a dialog that might set them on the course to their goal was enough to make him stop wondering what was going on at home.

The man who had been watching crept slowly toward where Lucius was standing as he drink was poured. He smiled and nodded his head as he reached the bar himself. "I'll have a stiff snort of brandy," he told the shirtless man behind the counter, "and none of that French swill." The man turned to Lucius and shrugged. "You have to watch for that I this part of the world," he commented. "They'll try and pass cognac off as brandy and you're in for a nasty surprise." Lucius snickered and nodded his head.

"Yes, that would be most unacceptable," Lucius answered, taking his recently poured drink from the hammered copper countertop.

"You are new here?" the other man asked. His accent was European to be sure, but Lucius couldn't quite place it. But this was the part he knew they would be getting to.

"Yes," he answered, sipping at his glass. "My colleagues and I have come to Marrakech to relax and unwind. The pressures of business are to be escaped whenever possible." Lucius raised his glass to the other man and watched as he did the same.

"Edward Richter," the man introduced himself, extending his hand.

"Lucius Malfoy," was the taller man's answer, as he extended his own hand in response. Richter was a tiny man. Everything about him seemed to be done in miniature: from his shiny black shoes to his light brown Chaplin-style moustache, to the tiny spectacles that pinched at the bridge of his nose. He was no taller than Lucius' shoulder and he seemed to be the oldest man in the room. Lucius figured this Richter person to be around his father's age, but he could tell that the little man knew plenty about the business that the Death Eaters were there to gain access to.

A true player can always tell the local fixer from the others in a nightclub. The man that you want to speak with is the one who looks slightly foreign in appearance, but completely local in demeanour. His manner was not at all unlike that of the swarthy natives, and yet his suit of robes were tailored and pressed and not at all the picture of the laid back local man. And the proper connection always went about alone. That was what had made Lucius notice Richter to begin with. He'd been chatting up the bartenders and the dancing girls, and none of them had treated him in anything resembling the same manner as they had treated the other guests. These people here treated Richter the same way they treated each other; a dead giveaway that he was the man that Lucius most wanted to know.

They would be buying Mr. Richter's next drink for him.

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If there were music in this piece you would notice now that it had changed to a minor key- in laymans terms: the plot thickens. Tomorrow will be fun (which should get written tonight). I am having fun writing intrigue and dark rooms. Thanks to O-Yossarian-O and bigred20 for the support and the reviews!!!

-MQ


	5. Chapter 5

Their new friend Edward Richter, a German by his own identification, was a man of many talents. He had told the group that he had been introduced to at the Hotel Majid that he was a retired businessman. When brought to meet the rest of the group, he claimed he had come to Marrakech only last year to dabble in wizarding archaeology and that he had a sideline leading wealthy European tourists on junkets of the more posh and unseen side of the city. The bunch of Death Eaters had continued with the charade of an association of touring business people on holiday. Lucius was pretty certain that Richter was as aware that they were lying as they were that he was lying.

But never mind that; this was how these things worked. The fact that Richter could likely tell that the Death Eaters were lying was not at issue, neither was the fact that they were sure that Richter was not fully forthcoming. One did not give up any more information than was absolutely necessary. Lucius honestly respected a man more if he were hiding something than were he not, so their dealings with Mr. Richter had been pleasant enough for all involved.

It had been posed that perhaps their new German friend was running some sort of a con game. If he was, then Malfoy could not have cared less. Galleons were just Galleons and Lucius could lose all that he brought along and never bat an eyelash. If Richter was after their money, he could damned well have it. He had been most helpful to the bunch of them over the sixteen days that they had been in the city.

They had been to the Bazaar and to the indoor market. Lucius was thrilled beyond what he figured was truly decent when Richter had shown them the Vertical Upmarket; a shopping district near the Hotel Majid that stretched dozens of floors below ground and was home to shops the likes of which would make Narcissa's eyes widen with the spending potential. The store on the third level (as there was but one large or two small stores per level of the place) was entirely stocked with locally made hand-milled soaps. Lucius bought enough to last him several weeks and still more to take home with him. And in addition to that, they were brought to a wonderful robe shop where they could all have new things tailored.

Lucius had sworn that he would never take clean clothes for granted ever again. It was easy enough to convince Richter that the new clothes were necessary only because of the difference in climate. They claimed that they had brought along only things that were uncomfortably heavy in the North African heat and that they would be much more comfortable in locally made textiles that were more suitable for the weather.

Playing the tourist meant permission for the bunch of them to spend gobs of money. And Lucius was more than happy to underwrite their shopping excursions. The bunch of them had no qualms about spending the Malfoys' money with impunity; something they needed to be comfortable with if they were to keep up their cover of wealthy vacationers. Every one of them had become quite adept at throwing money around and had bought oodles of gifts of silks and jewellery, leather goods and fragrant oils for his family at home. And Bellatrix bought a good third of the stock of every store in the place on each visit. Bella and Roddy seemed to be perfectly content to remain here as long as it took, but the rest of them were beginning to grow weary of the place.

Even the men who had originally claimed to be happy to have gotten away from their wives had begun to grumble about the time it was taking to get home. Crabbe and Goyle were both expecting children in the fall and the two of them in particular had become discontented by being away for so long. Lucius tried not to think about what he was going to be returning home to whenever he was finally allowed to return. He knew better than to try and send an owl, as the Ministry had been intercepting them now for some time and he was not willing to risk being found out as a Death Eater to ease Narcissa's mind. She would be much more upset were he to be suspected and arrested for Death Eater activity.

Matthew Macnair had commented that his wife had known when he left and that she and Narcissa might have spoken about it, but Lucius knew better. It was true that Imogene Macnair was his wife's oldest friend and that they were in the habit of having tea together at least once a week, but Narcissa would not likely have even mentioned that Lucius was away. Two years ago, he had gone off on the Dark Lord's orders and she had become quite ill in his absence. That time she had not even told Bellatrix that Lucius had left; Bellatrix who had literally left her bedside to join the same mission. Narcissa knew something of candour, and of keeping matters that were between the two of them between the two of them. Lucius could only hope that Imogene had no such tact and that she had mentioned Matthew's protracted absence in such a way as to allow Narcissa to guess as to why her husband had been missing for so long. Surely she would know that nothing short of a direct order from the Dark Lord could keep him away for weeks on end.

Lucius finished the work he had been at all afternoon, shrinking and packing away the day's purchases, and went up to the roof to meet his compatriots. Richter had promised them something special tonight, and Lucius couldn't stop himself thinking that it was something important to their mission. They had been given a little more access every night, it seemed, being allowed closer and closer to what they were after; Lucius was sure of that. Tonight Richter had mentioned that he had something special planned for the group, and all were in agreement that this just might be the night they make some reald headway. When Lucius reached the roof, all of his comrades were already gathered and ready to go; listening to Walden Macnair pluck out a melody on his newly purchased guinbri (a guitar-like object that he was sure that he could master) while they waited.

"Excellent!" Richter called out when he saw Lucius reach the top of the ladder and step onto the roof. Macnair senior put down his infernal noisemaker and stood to greet the new arrival.

"Are we all ready then?" Walden asked of Richter and the others.

"Now that Lucius has decided to join us," Regulus teased. Lucius shot him a look of annoyance. "Not that I can begrudge him the shopping he's done" he added in his own defence. He walked forward and slung his arm about Richter's shoulders. "Our friend Richter has brought us to some fine establishments and I am fully certain that my dear cousin Cissy will be delighted in the gifts she will receive upon our return to England."

"Cissy's presents be damned," Bella inserted, tugging on Regulus' arm. "I am hungry. Can we please go?" Richter chuckled and gestured to the ladder leading from the roof to the street.

"Ladies first, Mrs. Lestrange," he allowed. Bella did not seem to need any further encouragement. She shimmied down the ladder and waited there as the rest of them to join her there. Once they had their feet on the dirt, Richter gestured for them to follow him. "Keep closely to me, we will be making sharp and tricky turns," he instructed, his thick accent sounding almost comical as he gave the order.

The huddled bunch of them followed as closely as was decent as they wound their way through the wizarding alleys and Muggle streets of Marrakech. They came upon an oddly shaped terra cotta door and Richter tapped out a pattern across it with his wand. The door obediently swung open and allowed the sixteen of them passage before closing and bolting itself again. They made their way down a hot and cramped passage in the pitch dark. It smelled musty and the dust their feet stirred from the earth beneath them was enough to cause more than one of them to sneeze or cough.

"You see why I had to wait to bring you?" Richter asked the group. "It is under ground, magic is harder to detect through solid Earth and so it needs not be made unplottable. You have to know just the route to take or the door will not open to you. I had to wait to bring you until I had proven to you that I am but a harmless little man out to make money and show you a good time. A dark and dirty passage is no place to be led into by someone you do not trust. And knowing you people as I do now, I would never have presumed you would have followed me down here no matter what I said was at the far end of the passage until you knew me as you know me now."

Lucius thought that Richter's speech sounded a little too practiced, and it was no secret to any of them that someplace with solid Earth piled on top of it was harder to detect magic through, but the truth was that it didn't so much matter. He did not know what Richter's real opinion of the group was, but he could be pretty certain that their little German tour guide had no idea of the battle-readiness of the group he led. Even if he were leading them to an ambush, which Lucius was almost certain was not actually the case, very few people stood much of a chance for survival when met with a cadre of fifteen Death Eaters; very few armies for that matter.

"Ah- here we are," Richter called out. He whispered an incantation at the end of the dark hallway and the group of them watched as the stones before them disappeared, giving them access to a large and exquisitely appointed dining room. The Death Eaters moved inside as the stones from the hallway re-stacked themselves, closing the room off again. "Gentlemen," Richter addressed the bunch, "and Mrs. Lestrange," he added. "I welcome you to the Salle de Vite Salaam." He shrugged and looked up at the group over his glasses. "That's French and Arabic all mixed together, I know. This place was installed by a Frenchman in nineteen and ten; is still the finest cuisine in wizarding Morocco. Has lasted two great Muggle wars and still no holes in the upholstery." Richter smiled brightly at the bunch of them.

A petite blonde woman greeted them just then and gestured for the bunch of them to follow her. She led them through the open area of the room and into a slightly more secluded area just beyond it. "Voila," she presented them with a low table surrounded by curved sofas and low slung chairs that looked as though they were all cushion with no frame to even hold them up. The fifteen of them seated themselves around the table and watched as the little blonde woman conjured small basins of water before each of them. "Lave," she said to them, making a gesture that indicated to them that they were expected to wash their hands. The lot of them did so, and were each handed a towel by the young lady as they finished. She vanished the towels and the basins and then walked away from them without another word.

"I shall leave you to your meal," Richter told them. "I'll be back to claim you when Cecille tells me you are ready to go. Enjoy yourselves." He smiled and tipped his bowler hat to them before turning to walk back out the way they had come in.

"Well, this is swanky enough, I guess," Bella commented, looking around to take in the restaurant and its trappings. "But this is not progress." Lucius rolled his eyes at his sister-in-law.

"Bellatrix," he said to her, "I too have little patience for the seedy dealings required to reach our objective. But you, my dear, have no knack for it. The night is young, Bella. We will get somewhere before the sun is up; I can feel that in the air and in the change in the way Richter has spoken tonight. Wait for it, Bella," he insisted. "Just wait for it."

-o-oo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

More later. I'm ready for wands to wave in madness, as I too have little patience for the waiting game- this is about to get interesting :) Please let me know what you think...

-MQ


	6. Chapter 6

Dinner had been enormous and perfect. The group of them had reached a consensus some time during the fish course that they had not encountered cuisine of this calibre since having come to Morocco. They were more than happy to gobble up the cassoulet, vichyssoise, veal, shrimp, and desserts that were brought to their table in endless mounds.

The full and pleased bunch of Death Eaters sat comfortably enjoying a cup of tea after dinner when the polite French girl approached their table again. "Monsieur Herr Richter awaits for you on the upper level," she informed them. "Please, when you are ready…" She gestured with her hands to a tiny staircase that led upward from the corner of the room. The stairs were so narrow as to only allow one person at a time to alight them, and had been partially obscured by a curtain so that they had not noticed them until the girl pointed. Her instruction to them was the most English they'd heard her speak all night, and Lucius felt a bit vindicated in an earlier interdiction.

He guessed when they first met this girl that she spoke and understood English with much more skill and fluency than she was willing to let on. It was for that reason that he had insisted that they keep the conversation light and basically useless. Perhaps it was because the girl reminded Lucius a little of his wife, cunning Slytherin that she was, that he was able to see through her charade of being unable to understand them. He had tried hard over the past few days not to think of Narcissa, but he found his thoughts drifting to her more and more.

He'd realized only a few days ago that he was sleeping normally again; a fact which had begun to distress him more than he cared to admit. He hadn't been able to sleep well when forced to sleep alone since he'd grown accustomed to having her in bed beside him, and he did not like in the least the fact that he was now growing accustomed to sleeping without her. He wondered briefly how she was sleeping. Narcissa was prone to terrible insomnia when upset by something, and he was more than convinced that she would have been upset by his staying gone for twp plus weeks. He was especially sure that she'd be distressed over the fact that he'd gone without prior warning and without leaving words as to where or why he was going. And they'd been in a tiff when he left; that never helped anything.

Lucius led the group to the stairs and tried to put his domestic problems out of his mind for the time being. This staircase looked as though it led someplace less than hospitable., as it started off just narrow enough to comfortably accommodate a pair of slender ladies and tapered as it went upward to a width so slight as barely to allow the burlier of their compatriots easy passage. Had Lucius designed an entry through which an enemy would be forced to enter he might have designed this very staircase.

The group of them was on full alert as they ascended the stairs in a single file. Lucius took the point position followed in close proximity by Bellatrix, wand at the ready. The order of the people behind them mattered very little to Lucius as long as he was assured that Fenrir Greyback brought up the rear. Greyback was the only man that Lucius knew he could trust to have the appropriate reflexes to successfully stave off an attack from the rear when in a tight spot. The wolf in him did well in such situations.

It was some surprise to everyone when they reached the top of the staircase without incident and found themselves in an innocent-looking vestibule. The place was plainer than any other that Richter had shown them over the weeks, but had an air about it that spoke volumes to Lucius. They were in the outer reaches of someplace that would yield them information; of that he was sure. Richter was waiting for them in the plain beam and panel room. He approached them as they gathered at the top of the stairs and grinned in a way that let made Lucius even more certain that something was afoot.

This place had definitely been designed for an ambush. It was apparent by examining the walls that more than one magical battle had been fought in this space, but equally apparent was the fact that it had been some great many years since the octagonal room had seen such action. "I trust you all enjoyed your mean?" Richter addressed them. A chorus of nods and mumbles to the affirmative answered. "I have quite the evening planned for any of you who choose to accompany me on an interesting journey."

Lucius felt his lip quirk upward in the same way as he occasionally did when he'd been dealt an ideal hand at poker or knew that he had just made a more successful business deal than the other party was aware of. It was an unconscious acknowledgement that he was aware of something profitable. He looked around to the others and was wholly surprised to see a mix of responses.

"I think I'm ready to retire for the evening," Bellatrix answered. What? Surely Bella had an inkling of what was about to be revealed to them. She couldn't really mean that she didn't wish to join in. That was thoroughly unlike her.

"Perhaps that is for the best, Mrs. Lestrange," Richter encouraged. "I do fear that the activities planned for the evening would perhaps offend the lady." Lady, ha! Bella was no lady and Lucius was sure that Richter knew that as well. There was manoeuvring going on and Lucius wondered silently if any of the others could tell.

"I believe I will retire with my wife," Rodolphus added. What the hell was going on?

"I, too, feel a bit drowsier than usual," Walden Macnair allowed. By the end of the commentary, more than half of their group had made the decision not to join in the later goings-on. Lucius stood with Regulus, Greyback, Crabbe, Goyle, Rabastan and Crouch, watching as the others exited the chamber by means of a portkey built in to the periphery of the floor. They had been assured that it led directly onto the street above.

Lucius and the others followed Richter as he walked toward and through one of the eight wooden walls of the chamber. They found themselves in a similar chamber, through which Richter led the group of them through another wall. This action was repeated seven times in total, a different wall giving way each time. At the end of this maze of sorts, the Death Eaters found themselves in a richly coloured and garishly appointed parlour.

There were velvet wall hangings on all sides, some of which were partially obscuring tiny doorways and portals in which were hidden well-worn wooden stairs or piles of brocade cushions. Mismatched and too-brightly upholstered furniture littered the room, all of it arranged just so as to allow for some privacy among the two, three, or four bodies it would accommodate. There was a fountain in the centre of the room, the wall around which held a variety of glass and copper hookahs. Random bodies lay in corners and propped against the uneven stone and clay walls, opium pipes hanging from parched ecstatic lips that mumbled affirmations in all manner of languages.

Men from all across the Wizarding World were sitting in small groups on the floor, gathered around the hookahs, and splayed out on cushions on the floor before the fireplace and behind the velvet curtains. The only women to be seen about were obviously professionals at entertaining such gentlemen. Young ladies of varying ethnicities and in various states of undress were seeing to the men on the floor and on the cushions and a few were conversing with the gentlemen in the chairs and on the sofas.

"You see now why I discouraged Mrs. Lestrange from joining our party this evening?" Richter said to the seven of them. Lucius felt his eyes grow wider as he caught sight of a young oriental girl plying her wares quite openly before a group of East Indian looking callers. He nodded at Richter's comment, but was honestly not so sure he agreed Bella would not have had a thoroughly pleasant time here. Lucius knew, as perhaps the others did not, that Bellatrix's taste for sexual conquest went far beyond what she was able to accomplish with Rodolphus alone. She would likely have made more use of the services of these ladies of the evening than all of the remaining members of their party combined.

"I do," an interested-sounding Barty Crouch agreed.

"Come," Richter encouraged, "come." He strode further into the room, along the wall opposite the cordoned off alcoves, around the fountain, and into a small lounge area where ladies in Muggle-looking mini dresses and platform high heels were serving guilty-smelling drinks from trays. Richter led them to an area of oversized wingback chairs with higher than normal armrests and gestured for them to sit. "Kai," he called to the nearest of the serving girls. "These are my special guests," he told the girl. She grinned back at him knowingly and dashed off behind a curtain that hung opposite them. Moments later, she appeared again with a new tray balanced on her hand. Kai made the rounds of the Death Eaters with steaming mugs of something spicy and, by the smell of it, thoroughly alcoholic.

Regulus seemed to relax presently, as did Crabbe and Goyle. The others, Lucius included, were still on alert. They sipped tentatively at their bubbling cocktails and watched closely as the girls made the rounds of the room. 'Skirts up to here' kept echoing in Lucius' mind. If this was the kind of dress that Narcissa had been referring to as what the Muggle women were wearing, then perhaps he shouldn't have been so upset with her over a pair of rather conservative tweed trousers. He couldn't help but let his mind drift to try and picture what his wife would look like in such an abbreviated hemline. The mental picture was enough to let a smile come to his face for the first time tonight.

"You like what you see, Malfoy?" Richter asked Lucius. He figured it best for Richter to think that he was having as grand a time as possible and so nodded his head in response.

"Careful, Richter, he's a married man," Regulus reminded their host.

"Whose wife is in England," Richter added. Lucius had to struggle to keep the smile on his face at that. He certainly hadn't chosen to run off for weeks without her, and yet here he sat; in a Moroccan whorehouse surrounded by bare breasts and acts of indiscretion that only served to make him want to go the hell home.

"Touché," Lucius called back over his drink. "You, however, Regulus, do not have a wife to worry about going home to. I suspect you'll find a way to make the most of our current surroundings?" Regulus narrowed his eyes and smirked.

"So I will," he answered. Lucius wasn't entirely sure whether or not the younger man was joking. It would have been perfectly acceptable for Regulus to take full advantage of their location; the others certainly wouldn't have begrudged him the services of a professional under the circumstances. Lucius had to admit that he would have gladly taken certain frustrations out there himself had he not been wholly sure that he'd spend the rest of his life feeling guilty about it. He hated himself a little bit for even entertaining the notion of making use of the services proffered for sale in this place. In his youth, perhaps, he would have jumped at the chance for such a businesslike encounter, but he was older and wiser now. And what's more; he had better at home and he knew it.

"The hell are we, Richter?" Greyback asked. It was a reasonable question. The group had scarcely gone anywhere with Richter over the past two weeks that he had not provided them with the name, address, and a brief history of the place. It did seem a bit odd that they had now come to some place wondrous and full of mystery and had not been told so much as its name.

"You are in the sanctuary of Subira Mohammed," Richter answered. Lucius almost choked on his own breath. Subira Mohammed was a legend; a story that was told in whispers pertaining to criminals who'd gone missing. She was not a real person; and there was no actual sanctuary.

The legend went that: over a thousand years earlier, during the first instances of the Muggle persecution of Witches and Wizards, that four very powerful wizards had fled a death warrant across the Iberian straits and when their travels had left them too weary to carry on any further, they had sought refuge in a brothel in Marrakech. The madam there had a gift for Legillimency (a commendable trait in her line of work to be sure) and had offered them shelter from their pursuers. They lived there until the end of their lives. And as a reward for her services to them, each of the four had endowed upon her a gift of an enchantment. One of the Wizards made her establishment unplottable, the next saw to it that her well never ran dry and that her pantry never ran low. The third and fourth gave her in turn eternal youth and beauty; all of this conditioned upon her never turning away a Wizard in need of shelter. And for a thousand years the sanctuary of Subira Mohammed had become the stuff of fantasy for every man tried by the Wizengmot and sent to Azkaban.

But no rational man believed that it really existed. And yet Richter claimed that the Death Eaters were sitting in the middle of it.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

So the plot thickens some more. Sorry for the day's delay in posting- work is nasty; the corporate folks are coming in to my building next week, and as much as I love them, it's a lot of extra work to make the place shiny. More later, I promise... I have set aside time tonight for writing the next bit. In the mean time, you know that reviews make me do a happy dance.

-MQ


	7. Chapter 7

It was true.

Somehow in the clamour of the dancing girls with the drums and the castanets and in the haze of the alcohol and the opium smoke as it wafted about the room; somewhere in the mist in Lucius' mind and in the prickly velvet of the cushions and the sinful smells in the air it had become the gospel truth. They were inside of a myth. They had been consumed by a legend and now it was real. It was as real as the heat and the sweat as it beaded up on Lucius' forehead. It was as real as the fair haired damsels who lined up to wipe the sweat away. It was as real as his glass that levitated before him without need for his sustaining it there. It was as real as his need to remember what he'd been brought there for and as real as his desire to stay in this place forever.

The Death Eaters were truly inside of the sanctuary of Subira Mohammed. Richter had even pointed out Subira herself. She was a smallish woman, slight of build but with taut features and the eyes of a woman who'd lived for a millennia. Of course, she had lived for a millennia, and so the knowledge inherent in her face as she spoke and gestured was likely so natural to her that she scarcely noticed it. Hers were the eyes of an old soul, wizened but not hardened by age and experience. She had greeted the group of them briefly, before moving back to sit with a Middle Eastern-looking gentleman who had his feet in the fountain.

Her gift for Legillimency was more that apparent by the ladies that were subsequently dispatched to service the cadre of Englishmen. Crabbe and Goyle were first led off to parts unknown by a pair of identical twins with matching henna tattoos. Fenrir Greyback was approached immediately by a woman with features so severe and so similar to Greyback's own that Lucius was left to wonder if she was a werewolf as well. A young red haired girl with a thick Eastern European accent took Barty and Rabastan away together and the three of them disappeared behind a velvet curtain of the gaudiest magenta colour with fringe of purple and bronze. Two Moorish-looking young ladies then approached Regulus and began paying him a great deal of attention as yet a fifth young lady seated herself on the arm of Lucius' chair.

He almost had to laugh at the girl. She was taller than most of the others; practically dwarfing Subira Mohammed herself. The young lady was pale; likely the palest of the girls he'd seen in Marrakech, and she wore robes that were clearly magical in origin and, although sheer, were a bit less revealing than the clothing the other women were wearing. She was the only girl in the place that Lucius would have guessed was naturally blonde, although there were many fair haired young ladies about. It seemed as if Madam Mohammed had plucked an image of Narcissa out of his mind and sent over her nearest reasonable facsimile. Yes, the woman had a definite gift for Legillimency.

But even with the alcoholic haze on his mind and the contact high he was getting from whatever all was being smoked in the hookahs and opium pipes that surrounded him, Lucius had very little interest in what the girl was offering. He did have to appreciate how crafty it was of the proprietor of the place to manage to eke her way into a man's mind in order to present him with what he would best enjoy. But this woman was not Narcissa. Although he considered briefly closing his eyes and pretending it was his wife for long enough to enjoy himself, he knew his own mind well enough to know that he'd likely never be able to forgive himself for betraying her. And he doubted she would be able to make the leap to understanding that he was thinking about her the whole time and wishing that it really was her. He knew he'd not be so understanding if their roles were reversed. He thought it better to remain sexually frustrated and not take this young woman up on her very plainspoken offers.

Instead, he did his best to ignore his visitor as she crawled on to his lap and began running her mouth over his neck and exposed collarbone. He noticed that none of the young ladies had come to call on their friend Herr Richter, and Lucius was more than a little bit curious as to why. The ladies all seemed friendly enough to Lucius, as was evidenced by the one currently nipping at his earlobe. And yet Richter was at a table in a corner having a perfectly civilized conversation with the man who had earlier had his feet in the fountain and the proprietor.

Madam Mohammed kept her hand on the unknown conversant and she looked very intent on whatever it was that was being exchanged between the gentlemen, but Lucius had yet to see any money change hands. Money should have been an issue. There were seven of them, after all; and this was a business establishment. Lucius kept his eyes on the table at which sat the three; Richter, his friend, and their hostess. He tried his best to tune his ears to their conversation, all the while attempting to appear involved in whatever was happening on his lap.

And he heard it; he knew he did. It was as though the smoke had cleared from the room and from his mind all at once and the words that met his ears were as clear as a bell and as unsettling to him as the hands he felt tugging at the fastenings of his trousers.

Subira Mohammed had gotten up from the table, perhaps at Richter's insistence, but perhaps it was at the instruction of the other wizard at the table. She left them alone and disappeared from sight up a set of stone stairs that were partially obscured behind a heavy beaded curtain. Richter scooted his chair closer to the other man at the table as soon as the woman was gone, and Lucius watched as Richter bowed his head in deference. The man placed his hands on Richter's head and Lucius could not help but be reminded of the way that Death Eaters bowed when touched by the Dark Lord.

Richter's head rose and his eyes were wide. He nodded slowly as his mouth fell open and that's when he spoke the words. "Jawhol," he said, his German clear even to Lucuis' English ears. "Jawhol. Die Männer ist des Voldemort der Dienst hier im Gebäude, Meister Torok." Master Torok. Lucius had just heard Richter call that man Torok. And he'd done so in the same sentence as he had dared utter the name of Voldemort.

This was bad. Lucius tried to stand, shifting the young lady off of his lap in such a way as to hope that she believed him interested in taking up this pursuit elsewhere. He found himself suddenly light headed. Richter had been in cahoots with Torok this whole time. Lucius tried again to stand and found his legs wholly uncooperative. He had to get to the others. He had to get them out of there. They had to go; they had to go right now. Lucius willed himself to lift the girl off of his lap and tried once again to stand. He managed to divest himself of the blonde, but as he brought himself to a stand, he knew instantly that he was going to pass out. He knew that for an incontrovertible fact; and there was only one other thing of which Lucius was fully sure at that moment.

This was a trap.


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing Lucius became aware of was the heat. He felt his head trying to connect again to the world of consciousness and he was suddenly and acutely aware of the fact that it was stiflingly hot wherever he was. Next he became aware of the flies. The buzzing noises as the pernicious insects circled his incapacitated body looking for the next exposed area of flesh on which to bite him sprung to his ears as his eyes struggled to open. There was light in the room, but barely. The shutters on the windows that lined the far wall were closed, but inefficient. Streams and columns of light eked their way into the stuffy chamber, bouncing off of mirrors and bending at the angles of the ceiling and the floor. The dust that stirred around made crazy patterns in the rays of light and Lucius had a rather hard time getting his eyes fully adjusted.

Once he could see, Lucius could see that he was in trouble. Big trouble. He was bound somehow to a chair, his head tied back in such a way as to prohibit him from looking down at his other bindings. He could only guess that he was bound in a similar fashion as were his comrades, of whom he had a clear view. Each of the Death Eaters were identically bound to chairs, rope and rags securing them by their feet and ankles, wrists brought together beneath and behind them, and their necks attached by a figure eight that looped from around the bindings at their wrists and came up to constrict at the throat.

The bindings were effective, and creative. Lucius wondered if it were a skill particular to the ladies of the brothel- these soft but secure ties and impeccably-tied knots. And as though being bound wasn't enough to unnerve Lucius and the others, who he could see were also beginning to rouse, each man's wand was hovering just above his head, apparently sustaining some spell or another. Whether the bindings were affected by the wands, Lucius did not know; what he did know, however, was that no ordinary magic required a man to be at the mercy of his own wand. Only the most ancient and darkest magic could be used to turn a man's own wand against him.

Lucius looked across the floor and he saw the origin of such dark magic. A girl who he recognized as having been in the room downstairs was sitting in the lotus position in the centre of the circle of bound Death Eaters. Her eyes were rolled back in to her head and her mouth was moving in an incoherent series of syllables as she bounced her wand up and down as though she were conducting a symphony. What she was actually conducting was a torture session.

Lucius knew from the way his lungs burned when he inhaled and by the struggle he was having with tangible thought that the magic this girl was perpetrating upon him and the others was likely to kill them slowly. This girl: this unassuming little whore was killing them with their own wands. She had given them drinks downstairs, hadn't she? She had been the source of the steaming and bubbling purplish wonder in the white clay mugs. She had been called over to them by Richter.

Richter, who had double crossed them. Lucius tried as hard as he could to put straight in his mind the events of what he could only guess was last night. He had no idea how long he had been out cold, but more than one night would likely have left his muscles more sore and fatigued from their strange position than he was currently experiencing. Richter was working with Torok, or for Trork; either way, the Death Eaters had been lulled in to a false sense of security and now the seven of them had been captured. They were held hostage by their own stupidity as much as their own wands.

He looked at the girl on the floor again and his eyes followed as her wand undulated in a smooth and rhythmic pattern, repeating its action identically over and over. He swallowed hard and called out to her. "Kai?" He couldn't believe that the proper brain cells were still intact as to allow him to remember the name of the girl, but she had been the one in the 'skirt up to here' and so therefore stuck out in his mind more than perhaps any of the others. As soon as the syllable had left his mouth he heard the unmistakeable sound of laughter from behind him.

Footfalls came from behind him and he saw a pair of decidedly female legs come into view next to him. The woman walked fully into his view and leaned down so that her face was just over his. She tweaked her face into a wicked half smile and wiggled her eyebrows. "I am Kai," she corrected, slapping his across his face. "She is Milla; she is my twin." Lucius inhaled sharply; so there were two of them. But there was no sign of their master or his lieutenant.

"Where is Richter?" he managed to ask the girl. She slapped him again.

"You will not ask questions." She turned her head quickly to the girl sitting on the floor and snapped, "Shh- Milla. I will do as I please." Lucius was suddenly a bit confused. He hadn't heard a peep out of her. Kai was apparently aware of the fact that her captive was intrigued by the exchange as she looked him in the eye again and laughed out loud. "My twin speaks but to me," she cackled. "Milla says don't hit. Milla says you're the handsomest. Is too bad. She saves the handsomest for last."

Saves for last? Lucius was beginning to get a grasp of the kind of magic that was being done to them. They were to die, and painfully so if the comment she'd made about being saved for last was any indication. Lucius wondered as to the extent of the torture that was about to be visited upon them as he listened to the groans of his comrades.

"Now now, mein schatz, do not give away so much," Lucius heard Richter's voice call out from someplace to his left. He heard the sound of footfalls on a staircase and could only guess that Richter had only caught the end of their exchange.

"They have been here four days," Kai said back to him, moving in the direction of Richter's voice and far enough away from Lucius that he could no longer smell her cologne. "Awake I can have fun with them. Milla says we should have fun with them."

"Milla speaks out of turn," an unfamiliar voice sounded from the stairs.

"Master," Kai's voice replied. Lucius figured that the new arrival must be Torok. He heard footsteps again and could just catch sight of Richter's miniature shoes out of the corner of his eye.

"Milla can have her fun with my magic," Torok informed them. "And you can have yours with me." Lucius heard a woman gasp and had to wonder exactly what was going on just outside his field of view. He could hear heavy male breathing and suddenly had a very plausible guess.

"You may play with their minds, ladies," Richter said to them. "But you will leave their souls in their bodies for the time being."

"Quite right, my friend," Torok agreed. "If we are to have them available when we need them, we require the lot of them alive."

"Milla just wants to play," Kai imparted. Lucius still wasn't fully sure how the two of them were communicating, but it was clear enough to him from the conversation that the others were having that his captors fully understood them. "Milla says she'll be careful."

"And what of you, Kai?" Torok asked, his voice stern and cool.

"I just like to watch," she growled back at him. "Milla has her fun with their minds and I take it out on their bodies, but we will leave their souls tortured but intact. Please, master: may we amuse ourselves with your guests until you require them?"

"Very well then my dears," Richter affirmed.

"You may do as you wish," Torok told them. "You must keep them bound and corporeal, but that is all I require. Cause them to suffer and to go insane if you please, but remember that they are here at my invitation and not for your enjoyment. As long as you keep that in mind, I have no problems permitting you a little fun." Lucius felt his stomach turn. He was almost certain that he had just heard the twins being given permission to torture them. He strained his eyes to see if the others in the part seemed to have just heard the same. It appeared he was the only one conscious. Damn. He had no idea what it was that Torok intended for them, but he was sure it would be neither pleasant nor harmless. He had to find a way out.


	9. Chapter 9

_Cold in here; too cold in here. Is the door open? _

_Eyes open, barely. Pull up the covers. There's wind. _

_Damn. _

_Wand beneath the pillow. Found it. Flicking wildly. The doors are closed now. A clatter of the wind against the panes. _

_Damn. _

_Blown open. Flick the wand again and then again. Locked now. More clatter, the frames will rattle, but the doors stay shut. Wand back under the pillow. Sleep now._

_Warming beneath the blankets. Clock says three fifteen. Kiss Narcissa and sleep now. The noise did not wake her? Eyes closed, reaching for her. Touch Narcissa._

_Nothing. _

_Empty. _

_Empty? _

_Startled. _

_Sitting; leaning. "Cissa?" _

_Wrong. _

_Wrong. _

_Out of bed, quickly. Cold floor. _

"_Cissa!" Where is she?_

_Library? _

_Living room? _

_She goes about when she can't sleep. Where is she? _

_Worried. _

_Not worried. She goes about when she can't sleep. She's not far._

"_Cissa?" _

_Balcony? _

_No; not outside. _

_Bathroom? _

_Lights are off. Knocking. Not here._

_Head shaking, turn back- look to the bed. Where is she? _

_Library? _

_There! _

_Cissa! _

_By the side of the bed; fallen to the floor. Blood. Not moving. So much blood. Pick her up. Shake her shoulders. Cold. So cold. _

"_Cissa?" _

_Blue. _

_Cold. _

_Dead. _

_She's dead. _

_Dead. _

_Corpse. _

_Narcissa's corpse. _

_No!_

Lucius was awakened by the sounds of his own ragged scream. He was bound only slightly tighter than the last time he'd awoken, and he was almost able to lift his head. There were others screaming and waking as well. It seemed this torture went in cycles. The strident cries and choking sobs could be heard from all around him. Lucius had to breathe deeply and concentrate. The spell that was cast upon him was strong. The magic was as old as it was dark and it was coming to him from his own wand; making it that much more difficult to fight it off.

But in his brief moments of waking he could fight it off; if only just. He got control of his breath and then his memory. It had not happened that way. Narcissa had miscarried for the second time, although they had not yet discovered that she was with child. She had felt poorly, gotten out of bed, and fainted. He'd found her there, bleeding and unconscious, but very much alive. She'd been very ill, but that was a year ago. Narcissa was fine. She was at home and safe and beautiful and alive. His sweet bride was not dead and he had to remind himself constantly of that fact. Lucius sneered upward at his wand as it cast its ugly magic upon him.

He would not be defeated by the mental torture. He would stay awake and face his captors. "It…" He struggled to speak, his chapped lips and parched palette making it near impossible to utter a word. But he had to. He had to show them he was not so easily defeated. "Isn't working," he managed to finish, his eyes defiant as he looked across as Milla, who still sat on the floor in the lotus position conducting the seven wands of the captives in their ghastly work.

"You know she cannot hear you," Lucius heard Richter's unmistakeable accent said to him. His eyes were barely able to focus, but he knew his adversary's abbreviated form as he moved into a sliver of light from a window directly opposite. "She does not hear," Richter informed him. "She has no language as you or I do. She can send her thoughts to her twin, and Kai can send her thoughts back, but Milla cannot hear you. Milla cannot speak to you. Milla cannot feel for you, and so she is the perfect conductor for my little symphony, no?" Richter shot him a self satisfied smile. "Kai tells me that Milla sees you missing your wife," he said to Lucius. "Of all of the sins of a Death Eater, I would have imagined your worst fear being a bit more epic than a dead woman on your rug. Surely you could think of something worse."

So that's what he was playing at. The torture was their worst fear… getting more and more vivid every time they were forced to live through it. Lucius could better steel himself against the repetition of such things now that he knew what was coming.

"My wife is alive and well and you will never touch her," Lucius spat at his captor.

"Your will is remarkably strong," Richter half-congratulated. "But I do not think you understand that it hardly matters." Lucius was once again having a hard time staying awake. He struggled to keep his eyes open as the tiny German began to pace back and forth across his field of view. "Master Torok will have his way with you all on the night of the new moon no matter how your mind has fared through the girls' chosen pursuits. And you are wrong, Lucius Malfoy," Richter added.

"Wrong?" he asked, his eyes seething at the impudence of this damned nitwit.

"We have already gotten to your precious Narcissa," Richter's thoroughly unpleasant voice said to him. Lucius felt his stomach turn a back flip. How did Richter know her name? Had they really hurt her? "Actually, it's her own sister and cousin that have gotten to her. By now the lot of your fellow Death Eaters- what a stupid title you've given yourselves- have been given the news of the untimely demise of yourself and your six colleagues," he gestured around the room at the other bound and squirming men. "Your wife's sister and cousin were among them, were they not? It has been eight days that you have been with us and so that makes seven days since Cecille went to them and told of the horrible fate that had befallen you. I'm sure that your dear Narcissa is quite distraught at the news of your passing." If Lucius had been at all able to, he'd have broken Richter's neck for that comment. "You'll likely be glad to know," Richter continued, "that the news was merely premature; not completely untrue."

"So I'll be dead soon?" Lucius asked. "That's the plan?"

"You needn't know of Torok's plans," Richter answered. Lucius took a deep breath and stifled the growl that was fighting to erupt from his throat.

"If you are to kill us anyway," Lucius posed, "then what's the harm, Richter?" He snarled at his enemy and adjusted his shoulders so that the rope around his neck gave way just enough to allow him to hold his head as high as he normally would. "If, as you say, the news of my death was merely premature, then what would it cost you to tell me of your scheming?"

Richter looked down at Lucius with a sneer on his face. He removed his silly glasses from the red patch on his nose where they usually lay and shrugged his shoulders. "Considering the number of Galleons that I have managed to make off of you, I suppose that I could extend to you the courtesy of informing you of what has happened." Lucius averted his eyes for a moment. He was still determined to get himself and the others out of this; although he had no inkling of an idea as to how he might go about it. But he did understand that he would need to remember everything that was about to be imparted to him in order to appropriately pass the information along to the Dark Lord at the time of their next meeting.

"I am listening, Richter," Lucius informed his captor.

"Very well then," he answered. "Do you know the nature of the item that your colleagues were sent to retrieve from the Maasai?" he asked. Lucius shook his head as best he could. "It was Grindewald's Totenkopf."

"Grindewald's?" Lucius asked.

"Military insignia," Richter affirmed. "And it was not stolen," the little German told him. "It was mine." Lucius gasped. So it was an item of Grindewald's that Lord Voldemort had been after. "It _is _mine," Richter corrected himself. "And I will have it back. Those of your comrades that went to Kenya have stolen it from us, but I will have it back."

"Like hell you will," Lucius countered. Of course the Death Eaters had been successful in Kenya. Lord Voldemort was likely already finished with whatever he needed the item for. Grindewald had been the most powerful dark wizard alive in Voldemort's youth and Lucius had no doubt that the Dark Lord would wish to further cement his power by the use of a talisman having belonged to Grindewald.

"Oh yes, and hell it will be for them," Richter snickered. "It was their success that told me to be on the lookout for you and your colleagues here," he said. "Had they not gone after the Totenkopf, I would never have known to be looking for you. But they did as they were told very quickly, and returned to your Lord Voldemort with my item, and so I knew to find you. And I will get it back. And Torok will have his revenge upon your Lord Voldemort for his disrespect; of that you can be sure. The seven of you will die on schedule- on the night of the new moon, and will add fuel to our power."

"Your power?" Lucius asked. "You have power thus as to allow a couple of whores to make time with those you have captured instead of questioning them yourself?" Lucius sneered at the little man looking down at him. Richter immediately had his wand in his hand.

"_Crucio_!" Lucius heard just as he felt his entire body seize in pain. He tried in vain to keep his wits about him as the pain coursed through his veins and across his skin like fire and ice and acid. He gasped for breath and reminded himself over and over again that this could not last for long. He was correct, of course, as the pain subsided in a mere few seconds and he was left panting and with a scowl on his face. "You have tried my patience, Lucius Malfoy," Richter spat. "I shall leave you now to the devices of my dear little Milla. I do hope you enjoy the sounds of your own screaming. And if you don't, you can just imagine the tears of your pretty little wife instead."

"Damn you!" Lucius growled.

"Tsk tsk, Malfoy," Richter chided. "You should know better than to speak that way to a man who holds your comfort in the palm of his hand." Richter smirked and showed his wand to Lucius again. "_Crucio_!" he hollered again. Lucius felt the white-hot pain come over him and was momentarily aware of the world spinning around him before he lost the battle to remain conscious.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Totenkopf "Death's Head" think the skull and crossbones on top of a German SS officer's cap. JKR has mentioned that it was no coincidence that Grindewald was defeated in 1945, so it's only natural that he had some WWII Nazi insignia, and don't you think Voldemort would want it?? Please let me know what you're thinking (BIG thanks to bigred20 for always giving encouragement). I had an audition today and saw a concert last night (yeah- the yelling at night and the singing the next morning is not the best idea, folks) so I know I won't be having a fun couple of days- please send forth some happy wishes as I write Lucius' way out of this.

Does it spoil the suspense that we know they're all alive 15+ years from now? I hope not. :) How 'bout any guesses as to how they get out of this mess??? I've left hints if you know where to look -cackle-

-MQ


	10. Chapter 10

Every time it was different. A little more gruesome; a little more eerie. A little closer to the memory; a little farther from the truth. Lucius had watched in horror as Narcissa had died before him dozens of times. But he knew it was not real. He had found a mental discipline that allowed him to get through each of the nightmares that were being inflicted upon him. Every episode that played out in his mind at the hands of Milla and her ever undulating wand was just another challenge for him to overcome.

This torture was brutal, but he could withstand it. Sometimes she had Apparated into a rose bush and he held her as she bled to death; unable to heal her wounds or quiet the tide of blood. Sometimes he came home from Lord Voldemort's errands and found her dead and cold in their bed or on the sofa. She'd fallen down the stairs and broken her neck; she'd slipped on the marble and cracked her skull against the bathtub. But it was not real. It had never happened that way. And Lucius had learned to remember that it was a dream; to assure his sanity in wakefulness by remembering the events that were forced upon him and the true outcomes.

She'd Apparated into a rose bush but was well soon enough to come down to dinner. Lord Voldemort's errands may have taken him from her, but he had come home only to a sleeping beauty between his sheets. She'd turned her ankle on the stairs, cracked her elbow on the bathtub. Narcissa was at home safe and alive; just as she had always been.

The scenes that played out in his mind were not enough to break him; even this newest one. Milla had something more cruel to give him than these images of death, and Lucius felt his breath heaving in his chest as he fought to recover from the newest nightmare. It was too real; too close to home. It rang too true.

He could see her being given the news that Richter had shared with him. Bellatrix told her sister that she had indeed become a widow. And Narcissa hadn't been upset by it. She had said 'good riddance' and shrugged. This was worse than imagining her tears. He had to wonder if that might have been her true reaction.

He had to remember that the last words they had spoken to each other had been in anger. He hadn't even said goodbye. No 'have a nice time', no 'I'll see you at dinner'. He didn't remember even exactly what he'd said to her, but he did remember that he was being nasty and trying to make her angry and uncomfortable. He wouldn't blame her if she was glad he was dead.

But that was not true either. That Narcissa was not real; she was another construct of Milla's twisted machinations. His Narcissa loved him, and he was as sure of that as he was that he was sure that he wanted to get the hell out of this foul place and back home to her. And he was almost certain that he was about to get the chance.

The room was darkening. Lucius knew that the windows across from him faced the south and that the windows to his left faced east, as he had paid enough attention to the patterns of the light at the different types of the day to know this for a near certainty. He quieted himself and cleared his mind as he watched the slivers of light retreat back through the window shutters and disappear altogether.

He heard the ragged breathing of his comrades and wondered for a moment as to their mental states. He hadn't much time for assessment, however, as the room had grown completely dark and tiny shoots of silver moonlight had begun to seep in through the shutters. He could feel the energy in the room shifting as he trained his eyes on the man tied three chairs to his left.

Fenrir Greyback was already panting. His face was screwed into a pained expression as hair had sprung suddenly onto his chin and hands. Lucius had figured correctly; tonight was the eleventh- tonight was the full moon. He watched as Fenrir's body began to change shape, contorting and expanding as his chest heaved and a growling sound began to erupt in spurts from his mouth.

Quickly, Lucius surveyed his compatriots. It seemed as though the noise and the commotion of Greyback thrashing in his chair beneath the sustained torture of his own wand had revived the others. All of them were looking back and forth between Greyback and Milla and the others in bound in the circle. It wasn't long until Greyback's transformation was complete and his gigantic wolf form began to strain even harder against his bindings.

The rag scraps tore and the ropes burst almost all at once and the wolf stood to his full height, knocking Greyback's wand from its place over his head. Lucius watched as, simultaneously, the wand clattered to the floor, and Milla's head shot up to look at Greyback. She dropped her wand and Lucius felt it the second that her spell fell away. He took a deep breath in preparation to move as he watched Greyback swing a paw at the cowering mute; perhaps more aware that she had caused his discomfort of the past several days than one might give credit to a wolf. Lucius saw his own wand it the floor and blood splashed across it as Greyback was now giving Milla his full attention.

Lucius shifted in his chair back and forth until he was able to knock himself to the ground. Ever wary of Fenrir's frenzy for a kill, Lucius slid himself on his side across the floor until his still-bound hands managed to grasp his wand. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Regulus had taken a cue from him and was looking for where his wand had come to rest on the floor. Lucius took hold of his wand and shouted "_Diffindo_!" at the bindings on his hands and legs. The offending trappings fell away immediately, leaving him to scramble to his feet as fast as he could.

Lucius found standing up more difficult than he had originally guessed it would be. It hadn't occurred to him that he had been bound in the same position without the ability to move, eat, or drink for nine days and that the conditions might have had an affect on him. The raging of his werewolf friend was enough to supply him with the requisite adrenaline to make it to his feet and flick his wand to loose Regulus from his bindings. Together the two of them made haste at freeing the others.

The seven of them were just getting their bearings when the door burst open. Richter's wand entered the room before he did and a blasting curse barely missed Lucius' head. He ducked in time to avoid being hit and was able to see when Regulus fired off a perfectly aimed "_Avada Kedavra_!" at the little man on the stairs. Richter's body fell backward in a shining blaze of green light, and from the noise of it, impeded the progress of the others on the stairs. Lucius and the newly lucid Rabastan Lestrange advanced toward the stairs as the others scrambled to clear themselves of the chair and tried their best to avoid the angry and eight-days starved werewolf in the centre of the room.

Kai was next to make it up the stairs. She barely got into the room before catching sight of her bleeding and flayed sister on the floor. Kai screamed in horror and collapsed onto the floor at the foot of the stairs. "_Avada Kedavra_!" Rabastan called out, wand pointed at the shrieking figure on at the top of the stairs. "Bitch!" he added, snarling as the green light enveloped her and left her silent. Lucius chuckled a little at that.

It amazed him that he could find anything at all amusing at this moment, but he did. Perhaps his comrades were all able to keep their minds about them as well as he had. Rabastan seemed wholly himself as he and Lucius stood in wait for the final addition to their party.

Torok obliged them with a well-timed entrance. He fired blasting curse after blasting curse as he came up the stairs; assuring his path through the Death Eaters in to the room. One of the blasts caught Peter Crabbe, knocking him backwards and causing him to trip over the chair he'd recently been bound to and to once again lose his wand. Jasper Goyle scrambled to retrieve Crabbe's wand and tossed it back to its owner as Torok stepped fully into the room.

"Nice of you to join us," Regulus said to him, his eyebrows twitching and his wand at the ready. Lucius could see in that moment just why Regulus had so quickly been accepted into an inner circle of the Death Eaters. The kid had spirit.

"You killed my twins and my flunky," Torok complained, scanning the room with his wand. None of them were quite sure if Torok had seen the werewolf gobbling up his minion, but they were not about to give him a minute to take it all in. Regulus adjusted his wand and began to cast.

"_Avada…_" Lucius shook his head and stopped his cousin.

"_Immobulus_!" Lucius called out toward Torok. He froze where he stood. "We're getting out of here," Lucius said to the others. He looked at Regulus; he knew that he'd better get the eighteen-year-old out of harm's way as soon as possible. "Go back to the roof of the hotel," Lucius told him. "All of you!" he ordered. One by one his colleagues Disapparated as Lucius grinned at Torok's unmoving form. "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" he called. With a flick of his wand, he sent Torok's frozen form to the centre of the room, hitting Fenrir in the back on purpose. He watched the werewolf turn and rake a set of razor-sharp claws over his torso. Lucius gave an approving nod to his wolfish comrade and then felt the familiar sensation of his lungs being cycled out through his eye sockets and back into place again and found himself no longer in the dark room.

He was alongside the others, on the roof of the inn where they had quartered themselves since coming to Morocco. The six of them started as they heard a series of pops of people Apparating around them. Lucius turned suddenly.

Richter had known where they were staying. Of course they had been followed. Lucius steeled himself for another battle as the mists of Apparition settled themselves into corporeal people. Lucius drew his wand to the ready, prepared to cast as soon as the figure was fully fleshed out. He drew breath and then paused as the enemy came in to full relief before his eyes.

Lucius was stunned; not by magic, but by the start he got at the recognition of his adversary.

Standing before him with her wand drawn and her eyes wide… was Bellatrix.


	11. Chapter 11

"Lower your wand, Malfoy," Bella hissed, her eyes widening but her stance never weakening.

"You lower your wand, Bellatrix," he countered.

"I asked you first!" she insisted.

"I don't trust you, you crazy witch!" he told her.

"You're a dead man," she informed him.

"You're back in England," he said back.

"How do I know you're not an Inferius?" she asked. Lucius sneered at her.

"How do I know you're not under an Imperious curse?" he challenged.

"Because if you were really my baby sister's good for nothing husband, then you would remember that I can shrug off an Imperious curse in my bloody sleep- Inferius."

"You think me dead, Bella? How about if I do this…" He took a breath and prepared to cast. Before he had a chance to get out a word, Bella called out.

"_Crucio_!" She hollered at Lucius. Light erupted from his wand and he fell to his knees in pain.

"_Expelliarmus_!" called Regulus' voice from the other side of the roof. Bella was knocked off balance and her wand went flying out of her hand. Apparently the others had decided that no one among them was either an Inferius or bewitched, and that Lucius and Bella were the only ones who had seemed to take issue with each other. "Cut it the hell out!" Reg hollered. Lucius shook his head and stood, frowning at Bellatrix, who was scrambling about on the ground after her wand.

"Bella!" Lucius growled at his sister-in-law. "What the hell was that about?" He shook his head and ran his fingers through his tangled and filthy hair. The wind was blowing off of the desert below, pelting the lot of them with sand.

"You're dead, you filthy fuck," she lashed back at him. "That little French trick came here and told us that you'd been ambushed by Torok and his men and that you were all dead."

"Can we go the hell inside?" Rabastan asked, shielding his face from the sand storm. "Please?" One after another the Death Eaters on the roof headed to the ladder and down off of the roof. Lucius wasn't entirely sure why they didn't just Apparate, but he guessed it made just as much sense to climb down the ladder since it was there.

The group of them got back to street level and filed inside of their temporary lodgings. Each of them settled himself on a chair or a table in the open lobby of the place that they apparently still controlled. Lucius thought it odd that the other Death Eaters were still in Morocco and thought that was perhaps the most timely question currently on the table.

"And why is it," he asked the others, "that you all are still here? If you did, in fact, receive news of our demise from that little crème puff then why are you still in Marrakech?"

"Because a few casualties don't stop the bloody mission, Lucius," Bella spat back at him. "So what if you lot were bloody well dead, we had a job to do."

"Your concern for our well-being is commendable, Bella," Lucius let the sarcasm be as apparent in his voice as he ever had.

"But speaking of your untimely demise," Walden Macnair brought up, pouring himself a drink from a nearby clay pitcher. "Might I inquire as to why you're obviously not dead, and yet we were informed by that French hostess that you were?"

"We were taken prisoner," Regulus explained, gulping water directly from a pitcher he'd found.

"Richter was working for Torok," Crabbe piped up.

"And so was everybody else in that place," Goyle added.

"It was quite unpleasant," Lucius commented, the signature coolness of his usual speech having almost completely returned to him. He was pleased with himself that no amount of torture or bondage could heighten his ire for any length of time. "But we are back now, and Torok has been dispensed with," he finished.

"But where is Fenrir?" Walden asked. Lucius chuckled and nodded.

"Have you looked into the sky tonight, Macnair?" he asked. Several pairs of eyes got wide, while still others went to look out the nearest window.

"The full moon," Rodolphus surmised. Lucius nodded.

"Our friend Greyback has likely dispensed finely with him," Lucius shared with his colleagues. "And we have it on very good authority that the item that was hidden in Kenya has already been delivered into the hands of the Dark Lord."

"Excellent," the elder Macnair commented. "So we have completed our task. I propose we get the hell out of here."

"Quite right," Lucius agreed. "But someone had ought to wait here for our other man; he will undoubtedly be here just after sunup."

"We can stay," Matthew Macnair volunteered. "Those of you who have spent the last eight days in the custody of the enemy should get home." Lucius inclined his head toward his comrade and nodded. He wasn't about to argue with that. More than anything he wanted to get the hell out of here.

"Yes," Bellatrix snarled. "We will stay; those of us who chose to remain even after the reported deaths of our fellows. We stayed here to assure the defeat of Torok and we will remain behind until we have been assured that he has in fact been brought down."

"How very noble of you Bella," Lucius snarked at her. "The Dark Lord will be pleased." Bellatrix smiled at him and nodded her head, her wicked eyes sparkling at the thought.

"I know," she squeaked, her nose wrinkling at the thought of being rewarded for her service. Lucius shook his head at her and stood from his seat.

"You do what you will, Bellatrix," Lucius said to her as he began walking toward the stairs. "I saw with my own two eyes the blood of Torok as our friend Fenrir got his paws into him. The man is dog food as far as I am concerned. For that, I am as glad as the next man; but I will wait to celebrate along side of the Dark Lord. Until then I shall bid you all farewell and go the hell home. I have spent the last eight days lashed to a chair and quarry to a mad woman's idea of magical security; I wish to depart this wretched place and never to return. I shall be taking my leave of you all presently." Lucius looked down at Walden Macnair for affirmation. The elder Macnair was in charge of the group and Lucius would not depart the headquarters without his leave. Macnair nodded knowingly. Lucius nodded once back at him and headed for the stairs.

He dragged his sore and exhausted body up the switchback staircase and down the hall into his room. Presenting his wand, which it had yet to occur to him that he was still holding, he began to shrink the purchases he'd made while in Morocco and stuff them into the pockets of his trousers and tunic. He donned his wool cloak and filled its pockets as well. He wasn't done until he was sure that he had erased all traces of himself from the room.

He was sure that Bellatrix would remove any memories from the innkeeper and others who might have dealt with them, and Lucius refused to leave a clue lest anyone suspect. He bundled up his remaining belongings and gave a final glance about the room before Apparating away.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Those of you who like Lucius and Narcissa interacting will get some of that soon. Anybody guess that I was gonna feed the bad guy to the werewolf the whole time? How 'bout Bella throwing a Cruciatis at Lucius...? I wasn't even expecting that one. More later or early tomorrow. :)

-MQ


	12. Chapter 12

Lucius stepped into his private library from the Apparition point on its balcony and dropped his cloak to the floor. He shook out his pockets and dropped all of his packages onto the floor before waving his wand over them to return everything to its proper size. He could feel the tension seeping from his tired muscles and overwrought psyche just from the feeling of the air in his own home.

He nodded at the success of his trip home; he'd only had to make one stop, and that was not for long. The distance was daunting to him at first; in his current state no man in his right mind would honestly attempt intercontinental Apparition, but he was not about to wait one bloody minute before at least beginning his journey home. Once to his favorite spot in Limoges for a bite of food and no small portion of water, and a second Apparition had put him on his own balcony.

He looked at the clock on the mantle. It wasn't even late- not really. "Ooble! Narmin! Dobby!" he called. Three surprised-looking house-elves appeared before him. "Get these things tidied up, and put the trunks in my bedroom," he ordered them.

"Yessir," Dobby answered for the group. Lucius nodded. He scowled at the nasty little creatures. Sometimes he wished he had human servants. Lucius shook his head and addressed them again.

"Is Mrs. Malfoy in the drawing room?" he asked. Narcissa had made a habit in the last several years of sitting up at night weaving lace out of threads attached to bobbins on a velvet pillow with a stand. Lucius had no idea how it worked; only that she used it to occupy her mind on nights when he was away until all hours and that it had netted him a damned lace doily on a good half of the cushions in the place.

"Missus is on the North Lawn," the tallest of the three, Narmin, answered his master. Lucius huffed and walked away from them and out the door. Damn. He knew what that was about. It had yet to escape his mind that Narcissa had been given the news of his untimely demise. He hadn't thought to ask Bellatrix if the news had traveled back to England, but judging by his wife's behavior it likely had.

Falling asleep in strange places was an affectation of Narcissa's personality that only showed itself when she was terribly unhappy. She had a hard time sleeping when she was upset by something, and would spend several sleepless nights wandering about the manor and reading and working on her lacy creations. By the fifth or so night of this upheaval, if it had yet to pass fully, she would inevitably mean to be up and wondering once again, but instead be overtaken by sleep in someplace altogether unacceptable.

When they were at Hogwarts, many a night the Slytherin common room would be giggling with rumors that 'little Cissy's asleep in the library again. And when he'd come home after hearing news of her first miscarriage he'd found her asleep on the wrought iron balcony furniture. Likely tonight she had leaned against the live oak that was planted at the edge of the back forty and drifted off. It was May, at least, and plenty warm enough, but still Lucius did not enjoy the idea of his wife laying in the dirt when there were literally dozens of perfectly good beds in the house.

He quickly got down the stairs, out the back through the winter garden, across the veranda, and near enough to the live oak tree to know that his assumption had been spot on. He could at least be a bit happy that he knew her so well. Shaking his head, he crossed his arms over his chest as he approached her.

Part of him hated to wake her up. She only would have fallen asleep outside if she hadn't been sleeping well for some days, and he was loathe to deprive her of the rest. But he could not have her sleeping on the ground like a ragamuffin. "Narcissa," he called to her. Immediately, her eyes opened. She jumped a little and scrambled to her feet.

"Are you home?" she asked him. What an odd question.

"Yes," he answered, unsure of what else to say.

"May I say something?" she asked. She was acting quite peculiarly, but he figured that he could attribute that to her apparent inability to sleep of late.

"Yes," he said to her again. Narcissa blinked her eyes and inhaled sharply.

"I've learned my lesson," she said to him, eyes downcast and hands folded. "Your patience has emboldened me," she explained, "beyond that which is proper; in fact: beyond that which is truly decent. I spoke out of turn, Lucius; I forgot my place. If you have returned for good, I can swear to you that I shan't defy you again."

What in the name of Merlin was she talking about?

Suddenly, as though it were a brick cast from above his head it hit him. She hadn't heard he was killed, and she hadn't spoken to Macnair's wife. She thought that he had left her because of that stupid fight over that stupid outfit.

"I believe that you have misjudged the situation, Narcissa," he said to her. What was that? Could he not think of a _comforting_ way to tell her that he hadn't left because he was angry?

"Have I?" she asked. "I was horrid to you," she informed him. "I was sassy and crude and I stormed from the house like a spoiled child, only to return to find it empty. I promise you I'll not forget myself that way again."

"Narcissa," he said her name, exasperated. Where to begin…? "I had thought that something else entirely might be troubling you," he shared.

"Something else?" She sounded confused.

"I was under the impression that you'd been given the news that you'd recently been made a widow." She shook her head and looked him in the eye for the first time tonight.

"No," she sounded, her voice barely above a whisper. "No news at all," she added. "Only a fortnight with the thought that you wished me out of your sight and nearly another for wondering if that situation would b made permanent." She looked up at him and her face changed. "Lucius," she began again, "Why might I have been given the news of your death?" He inclined his head at her. She was upset, but at least she was listening.

"Because an enemy wished it so," he answered her. "I was away on the Dark Lord's errands and I was told that such information had been imparted to you." Narcissa shivered a bit and cast her eyes down again.

"May I say that I am quite pleased that such news had not reached my ears," she imparted. Narcissa bit her lip and looked at him again, her face tense and her eyes beginning to glisten in the way that told Lucius that she would have cried if she were alone. But he was not about to leave her be to cry and come back later. "Because," she continued, "if I had been given such news, and yet you stood before me now; I fear that I would fail in the ability to suppress an emotional outburst the likes of which you would find most unseemly." She tried to smile at him; he could tell. And he had been right; she was about to cry. "In fact," she added, "I am scarcely able to avoid it now." He watched her chest heave as she fought back her tears. She made a tentative move forward and he wondered if she might embrace him.

Narcissa's female relatives had filled her head with some arcane and ridiculous notions; which Lucius had been struggling to break her of since their marriage. One of the most infuriating of these silly mores was the insane idea that she wasn't allowed to touch him. He had been trying to convince her otherwise for years and had met with only limited success. Although she had, after a time, become an active participant in their lovemaking: allowing her hands and mouth and body to do as she wished in their most intimate of exchanges, even in their bedroom she would never initiate contact.

He thought for a moment to stand firm and let her come to him; perhaps this would be a breakthrough in her ability to turn to him when she was upset. But he couldn't stand watching her wrap her arms around herself and shiver. Perhaps she was stronger than he; at this moment he didn't care. He wanted to hold her as badly as she wanted him to, and she was likely to stand there all night wishing he would before allowing herself the breach of propriety involved in approaching him.

Lucius stepped toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders, drawing her into an embrace and holding to her tightly. He kissed the top of her head and drew his own comfort from the feel of her silky hair and the scent of amber and sage and honey and verbena that clung to her like a mist from heaven. He rocked her slowly back and forth and whispered soft shushing sounds as he stroked her hair with his fingertips. "Shhh, Cissa," he comforted. "You should come upstairs," he encouraged, "You'll be smiling again when you see all of the presents I've brought you." She tilted her chin up until her moist eyes met his.

"You brought me presents?" she asked. He figured that would be quite a surprise; he'd not previously returned from a mission for Lord Voldemort with gifts.

"I did," he confirmed, lowering his forehead to hers. "I've brought half of Marrakech home in my trunks."

"You were in Morocco?" she asked, drawing herself away just enough to see properly into his eyes, but not letting go of him.

"I was," he said. "You can ask Bellatrix for the details if you'd like." They had made a rule a long time ago; or rather he had made the rule and she had agreed to it, that the two of them would not discuss his activities in the service of the Dark Lord. He had, however, allowed her on occasion to speak to her sister about what had transpired while he was away. Bellatrix was as fiercely protective of Narcissa as he was, so it did not pain him to encourage his wife to speak to her sister when she was concerned over something related to the activities of the Death Eaters. And Bellatrix had not been witness to anything too gruesome or untoward while they were in Morocco, so it would upset Cissa little if at all to hear the tale from her.

Narcissa shook her head and closed the distance between them again. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest. "I don't need to know anything more than I already do," she said. "As long as I can be sure that you didn't leave of your own volition because of my behavior." Lucius shook his head and sighed. He put his hands on her elbows and stepped away from her again. Lucius brought his fingers to her chin and tilted her head up to him.

"Listen to me, Narcissa," he instructed. "I cannot impart to you how pleased I am that you feel as though you can assert yourself in my presence. I think of it as a credit to our marriage that you are comfortable enough with me to speak your mind- even when we disagree. And, yes dearest, I may become frustrated with you or even furious with you. I may snap at you or yell at you or throw things about the room. But Cissa…" He paused and moved both of his hands to her face. "I will never leave you," he told her. His voice was calm and steady and sounded as certain and sincere as he ever had. "I will always come back to you," he added. "Do you understand?" Narcissa sniffed and nodded, blinking back tears and allowing a tiny smile to cross her lips.

Lucius bent down and kissed her. She seemed surprised at first, but was then almost immediately welcoming. He drew her even closer for a moment, but though better of starting something he wouldn't be likely to enjoy finishing on the lawn. Lucius broke the kiss and stepped away from her. Her face was smudged with dirt and tears and he shook his head; she would likely be mortified by the thought that her face was soiled. Apparently he was looking at her oddly, as her eyes widened and she frowned. "What is it?" she asked, sounding nervous.

"I fear that, in my haste to remove my sleeping wife from the garden, I failed to recall that I have also brought a good bit of Morocco home on my person." He reached over to wipe the smudge of dirt from her cheek. "I should have cleaned myself up first," he apologized. Narcissa smiled at him and shrugged her shoulders.

"As the one who was sleeping in the garden, I suppose I've no right to fault you for that," she conceded. Lucius chuckled and pulled her to his side.

"We are quite a pair," he observed wryly. Narcissa sighed, smiling up at him.

"Perfectly matched," she agreed, "smudges and all."

"Come in side now, pet?" he asked. She nodded as they started walking back toward the manor house.

"I'll draw you a bath," she offered. Lucius squeezed her around her waist and looked down at her.

"I'll draw you a mental picture of what's to come afterward," he flirted.

"There'll be no need for that, darling," she answered, "as I am quite willing to be surprised." He felt his smile grow broader as she leaned her head in to him. It was damned good to be home.

FIN

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Another one for the record books. Is it bad that I'm skiving off work to get this done? I'm leaving for work now, hopefully the next Death Eater adventure will strike me in the car on the way. Either way, I'll be back- not like I can avoid the attacking plot bunnies when they strike  Thanks to all who have read and reviewed and I'd love to know what you thought of the end. More soon- as always!

-MQ


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